I Hate Weddings
by Idiot Jello
Summary: ToT: Chase/Angela/Luke/Gill: “Well, you’d think it’s silly, but some say that the Mother Tree has died, and this has disrupted the balance of harmony on the island, etcetera etcetera, so everything’s all shitty now.”
1. The Fourth Wedding

It was one of those hotels that had a cheesy, alliterated name that made the corners of your mouth twist up in the very slightest: not necessarily because the pun was funny, but rather the fact that it existed and no one had the motivation to change it. I hadn't made a reservation, but I didn't think that would matter that much from the sole, battered red pick-up in the parking lot. Needless to say, I didn't think this island got many visitors. There was a bell on the door, and it pealed cheerfully when I entered. The interior of the joint was just like the exterior: faded, peeling, but radiating an aura of tranquility. I could smell some fish platter cooking in the kitchen to the right, mingling with the hush tones of two conversing inside. It sounded like they were arguing about the quality of the ingredients. There was a teenager managing the front desk, her hair a strange gradient of peroxide blonde and dark honey, like she hadn't gone to the salon in a while.

"Hi there," I greeted her, "I've come to book a room?"

She smiled widely, and the blatant show of emotion surprised me. "'Course ya have, hunny. The room's four hundred G a night, can ya afford that?" She tilted her head expectantly, long, mascara-ed eye lashes sweeping as she blinked. I nodded, and she smiled again, her teeth not quite straight. "M'kay, I jus' need to put ya on the ledger. Your name, hunny?" The ledger happened to be a random scrap of paper she dug out from a holey pocket in her jeans, but I provided my name anyway, like this hotel was the Waldorf Astoria.

"Angela Bonaccorsi."

The girl arched a brow, looking up from the scrap. "I think I'll just put Angela B., m'kay?"

I exhaled amusedly, and, feeling awkward, surveyed the room once again. Nothing of interest caught my eye. My gaze returned to the girl. The scrap had gone, God knows where, and now she was eyeing me nervously. Obviously, she was new to serving customers. "Um, what's your name?" I offered.

"Maya," she answered, warming up immediately, "And please, if you will, don't judge me from this stupid place." Maya flung a hand carelessly over the faded scenery and leaned into our conversation. "As soon as Chase will dig his head out of the sand and smell the perfume, I'ma gonna get married and me an' him are goin' to the city to start a restaurant of our own. I told Chase this, and he only scoffed and said: 'If we were ever _to_ get married, which we _won't_, and if we were going to the city, and start our own restaurant, then I'd do all the cooking, 'cause you can burn a salad.' Well I got all offended, ya see, 'cause honestly, that was a _one time occasion_--"

"Maya!" Someone's piercing voice called from upstairs, "Are you talking some customer's ear off?"

Maya sighed an age-old sigh. "No, Daddy! I'm just making polite conversation."

Heavy footsteps followed, and a graying man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. His gaze instantly fixated on me, and he groaned. Before he could speak, an elderly lady whose white hair had a strange _pink_ tinge to it now stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Jake!", she shouted, and I wondered if anyone on this Island knew any volume below ear-splitting, "Where's Colleen? I need to talk to her about these vegetables. They're _ridiculous_." She waved a squashed-looking tomato above her head for visual aid. I smirked at the absurdity.

The man, apparently Jake, looked cross. "She's in the laundry room, _busy_. And please, mother, we have a customer."

The pink-haired lady turned to me, noticing me for the first time. I couldn't help but smile internally at her _exceptional _observational skills. She gave me an once-over. "Hello there. Name's Yolanda." 'Yolanda' attempted to smile; thin painted lips curling around long white teeth. She threw a glare over to Maya. "Hope my granddaughter hadn't been annoying you." Maya huffed out of the corner of my eye.

"Nope," I smiled, "She's been lovely. I was just learning of her plans to flee to the city to start her own gourmet restaurant--though, I understand, no salads will be served."

Yolanda burst out into barking laughter at that, Jake cracked a smile and even Maya, have gotten over her indignation, and started to giggle after a couple of seconds.

"Oh, I _like_ you, girl!" Yolanda chortled, not unlike a mother hen, and I smiled slightly.

Maybe this would work out. But even as I thought this, I was reminded of what had made me leave the city in the first place, and the smile dropped off my face in an instant.

* * *

I had come to the Island to attend my friend Anissa's wedding as the maid-of-honor. Honestly, I hated weddings. Well, not necessarily weddings, but any celebration of love in general. Because of this, my most sarcastic and cynical side was at its prime when I returned to the Inn somewhere between the hours of eleven PM and one AM. In my drunken haze, I decided—because my logic is purely flawless when 'under the influence'—to order another blueberry cocktail, for old times sake. I had visited the island a few years ago for a summer, but only to see Anissa; I had never become that acquainted within anyone excepted Anissa, Irene -- the elderly lady who managed the walk-in clinic where Anissa worked -- and a few others. Even though Irene had always put on this tough, health-maniac exterior, she secretly liked to nurse a blueberry cocktail in the wee hours of the morning. She and I had once stayed up until dawn cackling and sipping at the blue liquid.

A boy whose head was adorned with shiny, peach-colored locks that stood out on all sides of his head save for one bunch that was held back with three bobby-pins served me. The whole time his nose was in the air, his eyes full of contempt—probably at my state of inebriety. I arched an eyebrow at him as I cradled the margarita and counted coins on the counter—I'm a great multi-tasker like that. "Would it kill you to smile?" I asked him drolly.

"Quite possibly," he replied without missing a beat. He reached for a foggy glass, fresh from the dishwater, and started to polish it with the faded rag.

"You wouldn't happen to be Chase, the guy destined to be the future co-owner of Maya's no-salad restaurant?" I prodded.

"Yeah," he replied, eyes fixated on the glass in his hands. I had never thought about it: but apparently, drying glasses must be an exceptionally entertaining activity for socially retarded jerks who can't muster up the manners to be the tiniest bit polite.

"I'm Angela," I offered, "Friends call me Ange."

"Well I guess I won't be calling you Ange anytime soon," he snapped, and turned his back to me.

Woah. Either I had become really bad at taking a hint, or this guy was _touchy_. "Erm, 'scuse me," I protested, "I was only trying to be a decent human being and all that. I know it's a bit outdated, but don't ya think it's just bad taste to throw it back into my face?"

Chase turned again to face me, his scowl like the scowl a kitten might have if their favorite feather-toy consistently flew out of their reach. "Why should I be nice to the annoying girl at the bar?"

I smirked at him and said sardonically, "'Cause _my_ money is the stuff filling _your_ paycheck."

His expression hardly changed. "Are you flirting with me?" The question caught me off guard, and before I could restrain my features my eyebrows had vanished into my hairline, my eyes had widened so that they were the size of platters and not just plates, and my mouth had publicly set up practice as an official fly-catcher.

I shook my head, furiously, trying to shake the notion out of my memory. Then I was laughing, laughing like something had snapped in my brain when that peachy-haired waiter/cook _guy_ accused me with _flirting_ with him. After a long, hilarious minute, sanity crept back in, not quite mended and still dangerously fragile.

"You must really _be_ socially retarded," I managed to say between the random bouts of giggles that seized me whenever I glanced at him, "If you think _me_, drunk, being the sarcastic bitch that I am when I'm drunk, is flirtin'! _Flirtin_'!"

I was laughing again, and the Inn blurred before my eyes. I vaguely remember leaving the bar to go upstairs—having a minor dispute with the doorknob of the door of my room that ended with me accusing it of being in cahoots with the devil right before I remembered how to twist my wrist. My brain works like that.

After that, I woke up to a not-quite-endless-white ceiling. It was more of a faded, brown-tinted white that was chipped every now and again. Same difference.

Three weddings, I had promised myself so long ago after that very first boy broke up with me. Three weddings and then it had to be my turn to stand at the alter. I never was any good at keeping promises.

Anissa's wedding had been the fourth.

* * *

Needless to say, I was in one of those 'I'm old and single' moods _all day long_. If I were at home I would've buried myself in my studies, but I was on _vacation_, the time where you didn't have to think or worry about anything. And just because I'm naturally rebellious, I started thinking about my love life. Whoop-dee-doo. Because of this I was already feeling kind of 'meh' when the fat squirrel they called Mayor Hamilton cornered me at lunchtime.

"You look strong," was the first thing he said to me. I just assumed he was one of those perverted, desperate old men who hit on twenty-something girls, so I merely flashed my gaze up to his face and back down to the book I was reading. Though it was only the smallest of glances, I saw all that I would ever need to in order to perceive exactly what Hamilton was and forever would be: pathetic with his doe eyes, ridiculous with his unnaturally large nose, and sweaty, and right about here I would provide a description, but for your sake and mine, I'll just leave it up to your imagination. Don't imagine too hard or too vividly, though.

"Thank you," I muttered, and set my mouth into a hard line, trying to look as unsociable as possible. It wasn't that hard: I had a hangover from the night before and generally looked unpleasant anyway. My infamous grimace, however, did not deter Hamilton.

"I bet you could water five rows of crops in under three minutes."

Was that a pick-up line? I bet it stood for something—though, I didn't really think farming innuendo existed. Then again, you could never tell in these small towns.

When I didn't respond, he just got right down to the point, "I've got three farms to sell and one of 'em's got your name on it."

My eyes finally strayed upward to meet his determined gaze. "And what name would that be?" I asked, trying to buy time for myself to think by being purposefully dense.

"Why Angela B. of course!" he exclaimed happily, though I couldn't imagine where he got his enthusiasm. I quickly shot a glance at Maya who was standing near a peachy-haired boy—I couldn't remember his name, Honest-to-God--at the other end of the room. She rolled her eyes and flipped her hair 'nonchalantly' into the boy's face. His nose wrinkled and that familiar kitten-pout appeared.

I stifled a giggle and returned my attention to Hamilton, who was in the concluding sentences of what had appeared to be a long monologue. "So my dear Angela B., would you like to stay on the Island?"

I looked at Hamilton, actually looked twice at him with his pathetic-ness and his ridiculousness and his sweat, and I shook my head. "No," I said laying my book on the table, and he deflated. "At least," I amended, "Not now. I need time to think it over. A few weeks, maybe a season. I'll have an answer then."

That was good enough for Hamilton, and he soon left to buy a dish of omelet rice at the counter—_omelet rice? _What the hell was that? Putting all suspicious-sounding egg dishes aside, my brain latched onto a new memory.

_I need time to think it over._

Instantly I scoffed at the irony. And just this morning I had resolved for this trip to be a trip of no deep thought. _Oh well, guess my mind just has that rebellious streak that even I can't reign in_, I mentally shrugged and went back to my book. I had only read three words before someone cleared their throat.

Looking up, that someone was an awfully familiar waiter/cook from last night. And I still couldn't remember his name. Caleb? Charlie? Chad? Something with a _Ch_…

"I don't know how they do it in the city, but here it is customary to greet someone when they are right in front of you," said the Cook.

I arched an eyebrow mockingly, but then winced as my head cried out in protest. "Well, greet me then. Don't just stand there spouting off the technicalities of good manners or whatever." The Cook scowled unattractively, and I could tell he didn't have a comeback to that one because that's all he did—scowl. Then I remembered. "You're name's Chase!" I exclaimed, pointing at him with a short, cropped fingernail. I never was one for manicures.

This time _he_ raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

I pouted. "No need to be all dry like that. I was drunk; I forgot."

I noticed his eyes were the color of amethysts as they widened, interested. "What _do_ you remember…from last night?" I nearly laughed at his attempt to be subtle.

I did laugh, though, as I answered, "Enough to know that no, we didn't sleep together, and yes, you thought I was flirting with you. And it was _hilarious_," I teased him with my smile. He reddened, and it only made me smile wider. It had been awhile since I ever made a boy blush—fourth grade, to be exact. Or maybe third. Whatever.

Chase glared at me hotly. "Just for a minute, can we pretend that I have a socially retarded twin brother who said those things to you and you won't think any less of me?"

Snorting, "Why would my opinion matter to _you_? I'm just another annoying girl at the _bar_."

He grimaced. "I'm serious for once." I arched an eyebrow, challenging him. "Fine. Jake told me to be nice to you." Chase admitted it like it was a grand, self-sacrificing secret.

I laughed. "You don't have to, if you don't want to—and I'm sure you don't want to. I'm quite content with my book."

For a second, he appeared unnerved—like he _really_ didn't expect me to wave him off so without any hesitation. God, he was arrogant. He had the kind of arrogance that you saw in movies—you never _actually_ though it existed in real life. But after that instant was over, a sort of blank, detached quality consumed his expression. "What are you reading?" Chase asked. It was strange; his words didn't match his tone. They, themselves, could be considered interested. He had work to do; he had no reason to stick around when I'd dismissed him. But his tone was…distant.

"Terry Pratchett," I answered absently.

"Mmm," he acknowledged, and after a few moments of silence, walked away. I relaxed, and smirked at some witty pun weaved in the book's pages. There was a relative quiet in the Inn; the only sounds being Yolanda's slightly crazed mutterings about ingredients and Maya's too-cheerful-to-be-tolerable humming and the slight _clang_ of Chase stirring. It was the calm before the storm—the storm, by and by, I would come to know as 'Luke.'


	2. Angela B Is Broken

"Angie! Angie! Were you lookin'? Were you lookin'? I did it! Did you see? Are you proud of me, huh, _huh_?"

I laughed at his antics. "Yeah, I'm _extremely_ proud that you downed a whole Stone Oil in less than ten seconds—and it's not even two o' clock. You're gonna be _drunk_, my friend, if you keep this up." Over the last hour and a half, the hyper-active carpenter boy and I had gotten to known each other. We _clicked_, in that clichéd way when you know you're gonna be best friends for life, grow old together and live with fourteen cats in a quaint little cottage at the end of an dead-end road. So far, our relationship had progressed to the level of 'let's see how much one (Luke) can drink while the other (me) laughs her bony ass off.'

Now, when I laugh really, _really_ hard, it kind of reminds you of the sound a pigeon might make if it was strangled and then trampled by a herd of cows. So I really can't blame Luke for thinking I was choking, but his panic made me fall off the barstool, thus choke-laughing even more, and causing general chaos.

"_Chase_! I think Angie's dying!" sounded Luke's voice. My eyes were watering, my chest heaving so it slammed back onto the wooden floor, not without pain.

"Noik…im..'m..kay!" I said, not making very much sense at all. I could see Chase's unmistakable strawberry-blonde head peek over the counter.

"I don't see anything out of the ordinary," he deadpanned, and his head disappeared from my line of vision. This only made me laugh harder—and the head appeared again, surprising me. "Never mind Angela," he said, "I think that chicken on the floor is suffocating."

"Dammit…Ch..a..sse!" I cried. "Pwuh…ese!"

Luke bounded up from his kneeling position beside me. "_Awwight_!" he shouted—and I'm not kidding, _shouted_, "No one is to speak to Angela or do _anything_ humorous what-so-evah! Step awwwaaay, people! Awwaaaaay!" And he made a great show of sitting back down at the farthest barstool away from me.

Eventually I calmed and pulled myself back onto my stool. I folded my arms on the bar and cradled my head, my shoulders still shaking in silent laughter. I heard the stool beside me squeak, and a warm hand on my back. "Wow, you really _can't_ hold your liquor, Ange. And remind me never to tell you a joke, ever. I don't want my new BFF to die."

I raised my head and smiled at Luke. "This is the start of a long, beautiful friendship."

He wrinkled his nose. "Clichéd much? Can't you be like: this is the start of a long, probably destructive but hilarious friendship full of booze and bitches?"

I snorted. "You realize I'm not a lesbian, correct?"

"…Right."

My mouth dropped in my hilarity—I was laughing _so much_ recently. "You thought—you thought...!!" Luke's cheeks were now flushing deep pink; the kind of blushing that schoolgirls do in soap opera anime. He refused to meet my gaze, instead muttering embarrassedly.

"I'm really sorry Angie. I'm not exactly…erm…"

"I believe you're trying to say that your observational skills are equivalent to that of a brick wall?"

"Hey!" he protested, "You never know! Maybe brick walls _are _observant! Maybe brick walls know all the dirt on everyone! You're so prejudiced, Ange! Respect the inanimate!'

"Oh, excuse _me_," I mocked, placing a hand over my heart. I noticed peach out of the corner of my eye, and caught Chase's gaze. I quickly looked back to Luke.

"You are not excused," declared Luke, "Discrimination is a horrible, horrible disease."

"Um, it's not exactly a d—" I began, but then could not go on account of Luke's lips on my own. My eyes widened upon the realization, but then quickly fell closed. It wasn't like it wasn't nice, after all, and I hadn't been kissed in a long while. I stared at him seriously after he pulled back. I swallowed, "Are you drunk?" I asked him gravely.

"…Yes," and he promptly collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

The mock-solemnity on my face suddenly became the real thing. "Uh, Chase?" I said, panicked.

"What is it now?" he grumbled turning away from his pot. His brow furrowed. "Where'd Luke go?"

"Oh, he just went out for a tic to pick up some milk." I scoffed and glared daggers at him. "Where d'ya think? He's on the frickin' _floor_, frickin' _unconscious_!" I flailed my arms around in a mad gesture that I was sure made no sense to Chase and was probably a terrible expletive in some culture. You see, I knew how to take care of myself, especially while drunk. But if anyone threw the slightest responsibility on my shoulders – boom! Total mess. And here was Luke, my new BFFL, probably close to death by alcohol poisoning.

"Calm down, Angela," Chase snapped, rounding the bar. "And of course he wouldn't be out to get a milk. We've got milk right here. It would be completely stupid of him to go and get some, but then again, it's Luke that we're talking about. I wouldn't put it past him." He crouched down beside Luke, all the while smirking. Without thinking, I smacked his peach-colored head.

"Stop smirking and help him!" I cried.

I saw Yolanda watching us from the stairs. She was wearing a self-satisfied smile. "That's right, show 'im who wears the pants in the relationship, hunny." My jaw dropped open.

"Chase—"

"Stop having your seizure," he grunted, "And _help_ me."

* * *

I didn't like doctors. They were condescending and pretentious and smelt like rotting plants. I also didn't like clinics. They were the poor man's hospital, and I'd figured, if you didn't have enough dough to have hospital equipment, you must not be very good in your practice at all. So when Chase and I arrived at Meringue Clinic, Luke between us, the ever-so familiar feeling of that last blueberry cocktail going up the wrong way greeted me, side-by-side with the also familiar figure of Doctor Jin.

I smiled brightly. "Hello Jin, long time, no see isn't it?" I knew he could smell the alcohol on my breath.

He was unamused by my attempt at friendliness. "Long time, no see, since last night, you mean?"

I blinked. "You were at the wedding…? Oh. Oh!" I tried to smile at him again, saying, "You were the groom. I remember." I kept nodding, hoping that he wouldn't notice I wasn't completely sober at the moment. I heard someone – _Chase_ -- snort beside me, but I was too busy nodding to yell at him. Then I remembered. Luke. "Oi! Doctor-face, there's an unconscious patient right in front of you, and you're spending all your time shouting at your wife's best friend?"

"Is that Angie out there?" said Irene from inside. Within seconds she appeared next to Jin in the doorway. "Why didn't you let her in? Never, ever be rude to my darling Angie, Jin." She moved aside, practically shoving Jin over so he would do the same. We brought Luke in, up the stairs, and onto a bed. All the while I was criticizing.

"Why would you have the beds upstairs? Making poor, sick, patients drag themselves all up those stairs? Bad interior design, that," I rambled.

"Stop talking, Angie," muttered Jin, his frustration betwixt his eyes.

"Don't yell at her, she's only doing it to distract herself," said Chase, frowning, and I wondered if he ever smiled. Like, an actual smile. He was always smirking and stuff, but that wasn't the same thing at all. I started telling him so.

"She does it out of panic," Irene added over my babble, nodding sagely. Irene was pretty full of it. Always nodding and bowing and acting like a proper old lady when she really was a crazy drunk. I felt obligated to tell her that, too. "She insults people as well," said Irene, "Helps the dear cope."

"Well she needs to _stop _so I can _think_," Jin said, raising his voice to a volume I wasn't sure he had been capable of.

"But I can't!" I practically shouted, "Because then I'll think about how dead he looks and how it's all my fault." To my horror, as I spoke tears began to well up in my eyes—to which I responded by blinking like crazy, and the tears provoked waves of shudders to rattle my form. I knew by now that there was no way I could compose myself. I had ripped open the delicate scab that had taken so long to build, and now I was bleeding. "Cause I know it's my fault. It's absolutely my fault. I screwed up again, and this time it's hurting someone other than me."

Irene, Chase, Jin. I could read their expressions quite clearly. Pity, arrogance, shock. They thought I was insane. They were right.

Through the relative silence of my sobs came Luke's voice. "Angie?"

He was sitting up now in bed, looking perfectly fine and dandy, albeit a bit tipsy. Reflected in his eyes was an emotion I had seen many times before when people looked at me in the city. Guilt, cold and cruel, stared at me now.

"I'm sorry. I…I was playing a trick on you."

"A trick?" My voice squeaked and my eyebrows rose. I felt more tears well up, but I ignored them. "Excuse me," I said, and stumbled down the stairs and out the clinic. The sky was strangly white with the midday heat, and without any idea of where I was going, I began to pump my legs and ran out of town and this ordinary day that had so easily had become a nightmare.

I ran until I knew nothing more than one stride after another and the endless desire to go forward – or away, depending on the day. That day, I was definitely going away. At some time I stopped and collapsed, and cried into the grass and dirt.

I thought I had been strong. I was cynical and sarcastic and bitter; weapons that could battle away real emotion while I picked up my sorry ass. But apparently I wasn't strong at all. I couldn't handle the simple, _ridiculous_ countryside losers. The slightest misfortune had set me off into hysteria. I was pathetic. Hopeless. For God's sake, I was drinking in _two in the afternoon_. That was a new olow, even for me. Then a horrible thought entered my head.

What if it never got better?

What if I was like this for the rest of my life?

_No_, I promised myself_. I would kill myself before I would let that happen. I'm broken_, I admitted_, but I'm healing. I'm going to do this. I can do this._ And then I laughed about how much I sounded like that bloody blue tank engine and felt a bit better.

Minutes ticked by, though whether they were minutes or hours was beyond me. I watched the grass grow. Then I laid on my back and looked at the clouds. Next I carved the words **Angela B is Broken **in an abnormally large root and smiled.

After that I looked around to see where I was. A few meters ahead of me were mounds of soil dotted with tall weeds. It was a field, I decided, an abandoned one at that. I thought no more of it and began to make my way back to the Inn, following the trails. I glanced up to the sky and wondered if anything was there at all.

* * *

Where I entered the Inn, the lobby was bare, and although it wasn't to say that the Inn was always buzzing with customer activity, far from it, it seemed like he owners of the Inn were at least present at all times possible. "Hello?" I swept my eyes across the room once more and saw peach.

"They're all out looking for you," said Chase, not bothering to look at me. Of course, when the whole town was all a-flutter over my disappearance, the only one who would've stayed behind and polished glasses was my good old cooking friend.

I nodded even though he couldn't see the action. "When they get back, tell them I'm fine." I started for the stairs.

"But you're not, are you?" He said, and I heard the small _clink_ of glass against wood as he set down the cup. I turned to look at him.

"This isn't the best time to play Sherlock, Cook." I said, trying my best to brush off his accusation.

"Oh, come on," Chase scoffed, "After that episode? You're not going to stay here for a season. Next morning you'll have your bags all packed and you'll be hitching the next ferry off this Goddess-forsaken island." He explained this to me likedI was a child, with all the confidence in the world that it was going to happen. He thought I was weak like that. I waited for him to ask the inevitable. While I waited, I wondered what he meant by 'Goddess - forsaken.'

"So," he said, just like I had known he would, "Since your leaving, you don't have anything to lose. You could tell me, y'know." He chuckled. "I'll admit, you are a bit of an enigma to me, and I'd like to know some of your secrets." He finally turned and in his eyes I could see that he thought he was too clever. And he was. Chase was too clever for this town on this island in the middle of nowhere.

"You see, Chase, the problem with enigmas is that they don't easily reveal their secrets," I told him, and that self-importance drained out of his posture until he was looking at me with genuine curiosity. "And then," I said, "Some enigmas are rather disappointing. Some are just normal people that have a broken past."

"I don't think so," he said, and I tried to imagine how he had construed such an opinion of me.

"You would be. You'd be disappointed, and then you'd laugh, and then you'd mock me. And…it would be horrible." I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see his determined expression.

"I wouldn't."

That simple defiance made my eyes fly open and I stared at him now. I realized he was as much as an enigma to me as he thought I was to him. We spent a long time staring at each other before I spoke again.

"I didn't come here to get a 'breath of country air,'" I said, sarcasm creeping in and making me stronger, "You saw me today. I," I spoke deliberately, "am not okay. And I need to be. Can you understand that?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Yeah."

"Okay," I paused, "And now, I'm going to go upstairs and stare at the ceiling until I fall asleep." I once again began to go for the stairs, but I was prevented again by Chase's voice.

"Could I join in?" It was obvious he hadn't thought much about his wording before he blurted that one out.

"Excuse me?" I said, smiling for the first time in hours.

"Erm, I, uh…that's not…what I meant," Chase stammered, and I smirked. "I mean, could I, just talk to you?" He had such pleading eyes, so I had to say yes, laughingly. And then he did the impossible.

He _smiled_. A real, honest-to-god smile.

"Oh my god," I uttered, shocked. "Oh, my _god_."

The smile dropped and he was frowning again. "What?"

"Fwhh," I sighed, frustrated. "Oh man. Now it's gone, and I didn't even get a picture." I pouted, forbidding any trace of a smile to play upon my lips, lest it give away the joke.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Never mind that," I grinned, "I thought you wanted to talk." And I dragged him up the stairs.

* * *

That night I dreamt of the field, except it wasn't the dreary patch of dirt and weeds I had seen before. It was green with plants that I could never identify. In the field was a child. She held a tomato. Her cheeks where smudged, and she grinned at me, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. In the next second the image was gone.

I dreamt of wings and trees and cats and rainbows, and then I dreamt of nothing at all.


	3. Feminine Sweater Vests

**_A/N: _**Holy crap! I updated! Long time no see. I've been playing Animal Parade recently, which is basically ToT but cooler. So I got inspired and decided to write HM...annd just FYI I really hate introducing characters each chapter. I miss other fics where I can just assume that Angela knows everybody. But other than that, I am pretty sure the offcial pairing triangle (square?) is Angela/Chase/Luke/Gill. Maybe. Idk. Here we go, then.

* * *

Before coming to the Island, I never considered myself to be particularly outdoorsy. I had lived in the city all my life, and the only greenery there was the stuff the lowlifes were smoking in the alleys. But out here, nature seemed to be an endless ballet designed only for my awed eyes. However, just as much as I appreciated this change of scenery, I couldn't help but notice the drooping flowers, withering grass, and browning crops. It was Spring, so how could anything be dying? Regardless, I wandered far and wide across the Island's landscape, hoping to breathe in all the beauty.

On one such walk I had reached a small clearing surrounded by trees, rather amusingly called Praline Forest. Leaning against one trunk, I inhaled the distinct scent of bark. The smile that had grown softly to my lips quickly fell as I felt the unmistakable vibrations of a hatchet rattle the tree.

"Holy shit!" I swore, and jumped away from the trunk like a startled cat. My eyes caught glimpse of startling blue hair and I instantly knew who the crazy person chopping down the tree I was standing next to was. "Luke! You _idiot_." I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him accusingly.

"Ange!" He exclaimed, as innocent as anything. "I'm s-sorry." Did he just stammer? _Please_.

"Like hell you are," I muttered bitterly, and was all set to execute the big 'I'm-mad-at-you-and-so-I-will-stomp-away-dramatically' exit before he grabbed onto my arm, pulling me back.

"No! Angie, wait." Luke's eyes pleaded with me to hear him out, and I looked passed his shoulder, feeling the urge to the barf swell in the back of my throat.

"Yeah, what is it?" I relented, ripping my arm from his grasp and turning my cool gaze onto him. He looked crestfallen at my hostility.

"_Well_," he shifted awkwardly between his two feet, "I wanted to say sorry." He looked at me meanfully – well, as meanful Luke could get.

"What the hell are you talking about? You already said sorry about the tree," I said, "Now c'mon, I've haven't talked to you in _ages_…"

Luke was the epitome of confusion. "But…but…I meant…"

"Yeah, I know!" I interrupted, and wondered how on earth he couldn't hear the ring of falsity in my tone and the weakness on the corners of my smile. "Now let's go, I need to say hi to an old friend."

0000

Stepping into Town Hall was like stepping into a memory. Dusty sunbeams streamed from the windows, gloomily illuminating the room. The smell of leather and old wood tickled my nostrils. Luke sneezed behind me. The sound startled the young woman at the counter, and she looked up like a dear caught in headlights. She clearly had been caught up in her own daydreams, giving the impression that no one seemed to visit Town Hall that often.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, flustered, "I mean, um, may I help you?" She tugged at a lock of her short, mousy hair, and I couldn't help but smirk as I replied.

"I'm looking for blonde, about yay high, wearing a rather feminine sweater vest and a snobbish attitude. You seen him?"

"Oh, you mean Gill!" realized the girl, and immediately flushed, "Uh, I, um, mean, uh, that Mr. Hamilton is upstairs."

I turned to Luke, a mocking quirk to my lips as I mouth to him: 'Mr. Hamilton?' He merely grinned and shrugged.

"Nice seein' ya, Elli," chirped Luke. I caught him throwing her a wink before I turned to climb up the stairs. The poor thing nearly fell over.

"Don't do that to girls, Luke," I scolded him, "Swooning is very dangerous. That girl might've hit her head on your ego." I shot him a sideways glanced as we trod up the stairs.

"Pssh," he scoffed, "That's cause she's just that, a _girl_. I want a _Real Woman_."

I snorted. "What would that be, then?" We were at the head of the staircase now.

"Oh, probably something bodybuilding coffee-chugging nitwit without an intelligent neuron in her head," answered a snide voice from the bookshelves. Looking over, my gaze met the irate blonde's and I grinned wide.

"Hi," I said.

Gill's annoyed expression melted and he smirked -- a great show of emotion for him. "Hello, Angela," he said warmly.

We stared at each other for a few lifetimes before I relented with an 'Aw, shit' and tackled the arrogant brat to the ground. I heard Luke practically spontaneously combust in laughter and I wished I could've seen Gill's face when I collided with him.

"Okay, okay, okay," Gill gasped, "The novelty of seeing you again has worn off. Now get the hell off me."

0000

"So how's it been?" I asked him, watching the white sand flow and fall between my toes. I had scrunched myself into a compact ball while sitting on the beach, observing the sand like it knew all of life's secrets, all the while refusing to look at him in his position beside me.

"Bad." Gill never was one for beating around the bush. He had very sincerely told Luke to take a hike before leading me to the beach to catch up. "And you?" he inquired.

"The same," I said, and almost laughed as I practically felt his interest spark.

"So you're still with him, then?"

"Oh, that's not what I meant. I mean…it hasn't been a bunch of roses for me either. And," I said slowly, measuring my words, "I'm not with him anymore."

His eyes were on me, I knew, and I could almost remember their color. "What happened?"

I smiled, something like halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "I can't tell you." The words tasted bittersweet, reminding me of long ago.

I heard him sigh. I could feel him studying me, looking at me for the first time today and trying to piece together what's different about me. "Is it because you're still hurting, or you think I don't know you?"

His perception wounded me. "Both," I said, like the whimper of a bird with a broken wing.

"Angela, I _do_ know you," he said, his earnestness making me wince. "And I know what heartbreak looks like. I can see something's different. You're sad."

_No shit_, _Sherlock,_ I thought.

"You only knew me for a summer, Gill. Three months," I emphasized, "That's not long enough."

"It is." His voice was deep and serious and it made my head snap up to look at him. He was staring straight back at me with such familiar intensity I'm startled into a memory.

"_I'm in love with you, Angela," he says, and though I've known him long enough to know that subtly isn't quite his thing, this revelation still makes my jaw drop._

"_What?" I demand him to clarify, my tone sharper then I mean it to be. _

"_You know exactly what I mean." His expression is guarded, and I know why. Gill isn't naïve. He can predict every word that I'm going to say. I know this, but it changes nothing._

"_You don't love me," I say to him, "It's been _three _months. It's nothing."_

"_Don't say that." He regards me coldly, "I know you've got a boyfriend and a whole other life back in the city, but that's not what matters to me right now. I want to know about these three months. Did you ever feel --," the muscle in his neck bulges uncomfortably as he swallows whatever mistake he was about to utter, "Was there any moment you just…forgot about him and saw me?" _

_I'm not coming back here. It's the only solid fact in the midst of this chaos. It's all I can think of as I maintain eye contact with this guy I barely knew. I want him to know I'm not coming back. I want him to know I'm not lying when I say, "No. Never." _

_His jaw drops open, and his eyes turn reflective in the instant before he closes his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he ducks his head. I watch him; barely aware of the hot tear that courses its way down my cheek. When at length he looked up, his gaze is hard and grateful and confused all that the same time. "You're gonna miss your boat," he says, expression hard like when I first met him. _

"_Yeah," I reply, and turn around to step onto the dock, dragging my suitcase behind me._

I looked away and back to my toes. What did Gill want me to say? I knew that 'I'm sorry' just didn't cut it in these types of situations. And I certainly wasn't going to spontaneously declare my unabashed and undying love for him, because I couldn't lie to him.

"I didn't come back to fall in love," I said, keeping it simple.

There was a silence.

"Okay," he said at last, "I can do that. We can braid each other's hair and everything." I smirked into my knees. Gill was the master of deadpan. "Just…don't be afraid to talk to me. I'm…way over that." _Over you_. He was lying, but I didn't care. I turned my head to grin at him, to which he poked me in the forehead.

"Oi!" I protested, brow furrowing. "That hurt."

"It so didn't," he dismissed my injury.

"No, like, seriously. You damaged like, my brain cells. I'm now point zero zero zero zero zero one percent less intelligent now. Do you really want stupefying your biffle on your conscience?" I asked him, lip quirking.

He merely rolled his eyes at me, and reached to pluck a blade of grass from behind us. It was browning like it does in the wintertime, looking more like hay than newborn grass.

"That's another thing," I said, "Are you guys having a drought or something on the Island? I keep seeing dying plants." I raised my head to look at the ocean. The waves were rough, collapsing inelegantly onto the sand and then dragging themselves back to the murky depths anew. _Probably too rough to sail on_, I thought. _Guess I'm stuck here until further notice._

"It rained just last week," Gill murmured, peeling the brown from the green. He paused, gauging my reaction, "Some say, well, it's not like _you'd_ care."

I rolled my eyes. "Dude, I _get _that I broke your heart an' everything, but _please_ don't go all bitter and accusing on me, okay?"

"All right then," he relented, smirking. "Promise I won't weep into your shoulder. "

"Good. So what about the grass?"

Gill looked out to the sea. "Well, you'd think it's silly, but some say that the Mother Tree has died, and this has disrupted the balance of harmony on the island, etcetera etcetera, so everything's all shitty now."

"Poetic," I commented, shooting him a sideways glance. Despite all my earlier claims, three months was a fair amount of time to get to know someone. I and knew without a doubt Gill wasn't taking the supposed unbalanced-harmony of the island as lightly as he implied he did. Back when I knew him, he claimed that he could see little rainbow elf people that were friends with the island's local goddess thing or whatever. I thought he was kinda schizophrenic, and jokingly told Anissa of this, but she only became defensive. I furrowed my brow. A little _too_ defensive, from what I remembered.

"What about the Goddess thing? Can't she like, fix it, with her goddess powers?"

Gill shook his head. "No, the Harvest Goddess' power is weak. The Mother Tree was the bridge between the heavens and the island, the thing that allowed her to watch over the land and infuse her power into it. When the Tree died, the Goddess could no longer maintain the prosperous state of the Island. So…yeah."

"And there isn't anything you guys can do about it?" I tried to keep the mocking note out of my tone. It did seem all very silly to me. I mean, way to blame the lack of good crops and whatever on your deities. Why couldn't anyone actually investigate and try to actually help the island, instead of sitting around and preaching about Goddesses and shit?

Gill seemed to snap out of his weird religious mode. Drawing back into indifference, he told me that I was really interested I could look around at the library or something. I was amused that he seemed to want to impress me with his supposed lack of religiousness. We parted ways, and I headed back to the Inn.

0000

Maya had cornered me in my room, the look in her soft green eyes inspiring a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Her smile was mischievous. "So I got paid a nice li'l visit t'day," she said, "Wanna guess who it was?"

"No," I responded flatly.

Her bottom lip jutted out, and she placed her hands on her hips, pouting. "You're no fun, Angie! But never mind. D'ya know Elli? She works over at Town Hall, and she told me that Gill was paid a visit by an old _friend_." She said the word 'friend' like it was some sort of ridiculous gibberish word.

"Oh, god," I sighed to myself.

Maya was grinning madly. "Why didn't you _tell_ me you used to date Gill?"

My eyes went wide. "No! No, no, no, no, no, no _no. _Never in my life have Gill and I dated. Not ever. I had a boyfriend when we knew each other. We didn't even like each other like that." I hadn't know Maya for very long, but everything from her pink tank-top to her UGG boots to her Strawberry Blast – flavored lip gloss warned me that when Maya got a hold of the teeniest, tiniest piece of gossip, she would spread it everywhere from the North Pole to this shit of a town. I had to squash this thing before she started planning our wedding.

Maya rolled her eyes. "Goddess, Ange, it wasn't like I was going to tell everybody. I mean, everyone knows that Gill has been hung up on some chick for like, _ever_, and it's a strict no-no to even talk 'bout it or he'll like, burst into tears. I just didn't know it was _you_."

Doubtful, I searched Maya's expression, trying to place an underlying motive. There was no way she was _just_ curious, right? She stared at me, too, and I knew she was trying to see if I really 'liked' Gill or not.

'Well, now you know," I said, breaking the silence. "Gill and I aren't like that. I'm going down stairs for dinner now, all right?"

Maya was obviously deflated that she hadn't uncovered anything juicy. "All right," she said, twirling a lock of her blondish hair. "I'm supposed to be working, anyway."

0000

The Inn was particularly that night. I sat down at one of the few vacant tables, and another blonde came to serve me, introducing herself as Kathy. She was tall, and wore battered jeans and cowboy boots. Her hair was natural, I could tell, because her eyebrows were blonde, too. She was clearly interested in me. She had probably heard stories about me – the crazy new stranger at the Inn who had a complete mental breakdown within the first two days of her stay.

"So whatcha'll have this evening?" chirruped Kathy. I hadn't even glanced at the menu.

"Um," I said, and then thought of something. "Whatever Chase recommends."

This seemed to dissolve Kathy's waitress mode. "So you've met the gang?" She said, leaning into the conversation.

I almost smiled. "Yeah, Jake, Colleen, Maya, Yolanda, Chase…you know."

"I've heard about you. Yolanda really likes you, you know. Her maternal instinct is kicking in for the first time in like, twenty years. She's more worried about you right now than she's been about anyone in forever. By the way, I don't mean to seem all overly friendly like Maya or anything, 'cause Chase told me you were kind of quiet, but I just wanna say that if you need to cry or anything, my shoulder is open. Oh, god, I'm blabbering. I talk a lot when I'm nervous, okay?"

I laughed. "I really don't understand why everyone on this Island is so interested in impressing me."

The smile in Kathy's eyes slowly diminished to sadness. "It's because they're desperate. They think new blood will help."

"The Mother Tree?" I guessed.

Kathy nodded. "It's sad, really," she said. "It's the whole island that's dying. The plants, the wind, the water – and no one can do anything about it." She scoffed. "Well, at least, no one can do anything useful. Irene likes to talk about the supposed 'Rainbows of Nature' or whatever, but she's pretty much full of it."

I quirked my eyebrow. Apparently, not everyone was a believer of the Mother Tree. I questioned Kathy about this.

"It's a tree," she said, and I could swear I could detect a bitter note in her tone. "Just a tree. Whether it lives or dies has _nothing_ to with _anything_." That last part came forcefully. I studied her expression. Kathy was definitely hiding something. "Well, I'll just go tell Chase to make whatever."

0000

I was reading when the knock came. "Come in," I called. It was Chase.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be up, still." His tone was slightly apologetic, a valiant attempt at being moderately polite.

"Night owl," I dismissed. "So what do you want?"

"Kathy wanted me to ask you if you wanted to go riding with her tomorrow. At Brownie Ranch." He didn't meet my gaze, instead his eyes were fixated on the window.

"S-sure," I stuttered. I probably would never get used to the casual friendliness of this place.

Chase looked up. "I tell her, then. Goodnight." He smiled, and then left, closing the door behind him.

What the hell?

0000

Wings, definitely wings. Dying wings. A woman's face. Oranges. Spinach. Tomatoes. That child, once again. When I awoke, I was exhausted.


End file.
